


Guileless Son

by willowoftheriver



Series: fearfully made [4]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Always a Different Sex, Christianity, Disguise, F/M, Female Merlin (Merlin), Manipulation, Paganism, Pregnancy, Prophecy, Weddings, i'm sure there are historical inaccuracies in regards to religion, post the fall of the roman empire, the incest actually isn't mentioned in this one
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-14
Updated: 2019-08-14
Packaged: 2020-08-23 10:51:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20241652
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/willowoftheriver/pseuds/willowoftheriver
Summary: Morgana and Mordred attend a wedding.





	Guileless Son

There’s a collective held breath as Merlin walks through the threshold of the chapel, as though God Himself might deign to strike her down for profaning His house.

If only Morgana could be so lucky. But she doesn’t believe in this new god from Rome, or what used to be one of its provinces, or wherever exactly it first came to popularity.

There are only the old gods, the spirits of the earth and water and trees, and she knows very well they will never do anything against Merlin. Against _Emrys_.

It’s prophesied that this stupid, blushing girl will kill her one day. This whore who’s done nothing with her life except spread her legs for a prince happenstance put her in the path of.

(But yet, Morgana fears her. Truly, truly fears her, however much it nauseates her to admit. She’s only had a taste of her power, but it was enough.)

Uther looks worse than he ever has. Yes, he’s gained back some healthy weight, regained some color in his face. There’s no sweat of infection on his brow. But his expression, as he watches Merlin escorted down the aisle by Gaius, handed off under the lustful gaze of her princely husband-to-be, is something the likes of which Morgana has never seen before, even when she took amusement in applying hot pokers to the junction between his thigh and pelvis.

Of course, everyone now knows Merlin—_Emrys_—is a witch. The most powerful sorceress in a generation (_a thousand lifetimes)_, and it could almost make Morgana appreciate this moment, but instead all she can do is grind her teeth, grind them so tightly her glamour almost falters.

Merlin says her vows so very sweetly. Pledges them in the sight of Uther’s _Christian_ god, as though she’s some friend of Rome.

(They would burn her at the fucking stake. Morgana is sure Merlin knows that every bit as well as she herself does.)

“Do you see what they’re making her do?” she whispers. Mordred looks up at her, wide eyed, and she runs her tongue hard over the back of her teeth. He’s a powerful child, so powerful, and full of so many dark thoughts, some of them directed at Merlin—but he’s also in awe of _Emrys_, despite himself and anything she’s done to wrong him. A boy on the cusp of manhood, staring at a mildly attractive girl radiating with power beyond comprehension, so bright it could sear eyes, drag in the blind men it makes.

“Arthur wants her power for himself,” she says, and clenches his hand hard in her own. “He wants what she can bring to his reign, the heirs she can give him. He’s already forced another one into her. Can’t you see?”

Mordred’s eyes seek her out, every bit as greedy as her groom’s. It disgusts her, the way gazes always seem to turn covetous when they reach Merlin. Arthur’s, first and foremost. Gwen’s. Every single knight’s.

(But not Uther’s. Never Uther’s.)

“What a boon it is for Arthur, for the whole kingdom to know he has Emrys on her back. That his seed is enough to take root in her again and again.”

Mordred’s lips twist, and Morgana smiles a little smile to herself. Lust for Merlin is one thing, she supposes; the sheer potency of her magic seems to precipitate it, whatever she may be lacking in her physical appearance. But hatred of Arthur—that’s something else entirely.

At the altar, the handfasting is completed. Merlin has managed to not be struck down by the eastern god for her blatant violations of his basic tenants, which Morgana seems to recall involve revering nothing before him. Perhaps professing false faith in him is another.

(She never did quite pay attention to her lessons on it, to be honest.)

Merlin has worn a veil, as though she has the temerity to pretend to be a virgin. Even disregarding her bastard, who appears to have been left out of the wedding proceedings, there’s an air about her that Morgana’s crudest side would call _freshly fucked_—but that polite company would refer to as ‘glowing’. The pregnancy isn’t visible in her belly yet, but Morgana can see it everywhere else.

It stokes Mordred’s jealousy, even if he doesn’t quite realize the extent of it himself. He’s yet a child, after all. But he’ll grow.

“Emrys and her _loyalty_,” Morgana sighs, watching the woman in question smile and laugh her way to the end of the aisle, arm in arm with her groom. They disappear out the chapel doors amongst thrown flower petals, their hands still linked by ribbon.

Uther’s face has fallen into his hands, his fingers splaying over his eyes.

“Arthur really did do well for himself to catch her when he did,” Morgana says, and clicks her tongue. It’s not disingenuous. It was truly a stroke of strategic mastery, to seduce Emrys.

(Yet magic is still not legal in Camelot, even on this oh so momentous day, however ignored that of Arthur’s whore is.)

The bridal party proceeds out after them. Gwen simpers at the head of it. (And Morgana can only grind her teeth yet again, because Gwen is _hers_, has been hers long before Merlin had ever even darkened Camelot’s fucking doorstep—)

But Gwen is a besotted idiot now, the same as the rest of them. Morgana doesn’t know why a part of her had ever expected anything else.

But she can’t underestimate that ability to _besot. _Mordred’s eyes linger on the chapel doors long after Merlin is gone, and she reaches out to card her fingers through his hair.

“Shall we join the celebrations?” she asks. For half a second, she admires the fair, cherubic features of his glamour superimposed atop his face, but she sees through it the instant she blinks.

There’s a sanguine type of satisfaction when he scowls, shakes his head. “No.”

She smiles, pleased.

(Emrys may be her prophesized ruin, and perhaps, _perhaps_ there’s nothing she can do to fight that.

But Mordred is Arthur’s.)

**Author's Note:**

> It's been awhile, hasn't it?! I really cycle between fandoms and it's been a long time since I was into Merlin, but now that I have a renewed interest, here's the fic that's been sitting about 1/10th finished on my computer for years. After a few crappy false starts.
> 
> The title comes from "Mordred's Lullaby" by Heather Dale.


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